


The Wheel of Fortune

by Zara_Zee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Dean Winchester, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), First Time, Fortune Telling, Las Vegas, M/M, Pre series, SPN_J2_Reversebang, Sharing a Bed, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27603437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zara_Zee/pseuds/Zara_Zee
Summary: Sam is desperate for change; Dean just wants things to stay the same. But the wheel of fortune turns evermore and no one can avoid what is fated. Especially not a Winchester.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 52
Kudos: 155
Collections: 2020 Supernatural Reversebang Challenge





	The Wheel of Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another SPN_Reversebang and this time I was lucky enough to work with Grazimousy whose art prompt was so very inspiring and whose additional art pieces for this challenge have been just awesome. Please go and check out the art masterpost [HERE](https://grazimousy.livejournal.com/583.html) and give Grazimousy lots of love! <3

John Winchester slams the motel door so hard when he leaves that its cheap plywood frame comes perilously close to splintering, and one of the three flying ducks on the wall is knocked crooked.

Sam’s hands are fisted at his side; chin raised, jaw clenched, and Dean stands between him and their father’s furious wake, a hand stretched out in either direction, like some modern day Moses, trying to join the red sea back together, rather than part it.

John though, is an unmovable object. And Sam is an unstoppable force. And Dean? Dean is just a high school drop out with a GED, a give’em Hell attitude, and the gut wrenching feeling that he’s not going to be able to keep his family together much longer.

He drops his arms to his sides and meets Sam’s eyes.

Sam looks like he’s trying not to cry. Fuck.

“You okay, Sammy?”

Sam nods, breathes in, deep but shaky, and then backs into the bed closest to the door and sits down, elbows on his spread knees, head in his hands.

“He hates me,” Sam says morosely.

“He doesn’t,” Dean ignores Sam’s disbelieving snort. “It’s just…his life’s all military tactics and threat assessments, and all he sees is a world full of innocent civilians, surrounded by enemy combatants they can’t even see, in the middle of a war they don’t know about.”

Sam’s eyes meet his again and the expression in them is too told for an eighteen year old.

“I just want a _normal_ life, Dean. Most parents are _proud_ when their kid tells them they want to go to college. Dad’s acting like I told him I wanna be cannibalistic serial killer!”

Dean huffs, shakes his head. “He’s acting like you’re a soldier who wants to desert his unit before the battle’s over.”

Dad’s not entirely wrong, although Dean will never tell Sam that. Because Sam is also right. He _does_ deserve a normal life and Dean wishes their dad was as proud of Sam as he is.

Sam doesn’t know Dean knows yet, but Sam got accepted to Stanford; the envelopes are only that fat if you got in. Dean may not be college material himself, but he knows that much.

The envelope is burning a hole in the bottom of his brother’s duffle bag, beneath his dirty washing bag. Dean knows he’s been a dick about college in the past, and he’d be lying if he said he wants Sam to go. But there’s no way his little brother’s _not_ going. He just wants to go with their blessing.

Sam’s hands are clenched into fists again.

“It would be nice,” he says tightly, “if just for once, Dad could treat us like his _sons_ , instead of like privates in his personal army.”

“Hey now,” Dean says, pasting on a shit-eating grin, “ _You_ might be a private, but I’m at least a corporal.”

It gets him a small huff and maybe a quarter of a dimple, but Dean will take it.

\--

Sam’s sacked out in the bed farthest from the door, but Dean can’t sleep. The fact that he’s not in bed, but sitting by the window watching the motel’s neon _No Vacancy_ sign flicker probably isn’t helping.

The room has two queens and a slide out cot. The bed nearest the door is always Dad’s and five years ago, Sam and Dean would’ve taken the other one; but Dad suddenly got weird about them sleeping in the same bed and started getting a pull out for Sam. Only Sam is now too big for it—it’s way too small for any of the Winchester men—and the whole thing is just stupid anyway. It’s not like they’ve ever had any boundaries. They’re SamnDean. The boys. A unit. Always have been.

They’ve been called co-dependent too many times to count; teachers, school counsellors, social workers. Dean’s never been entirely sure where he ends and Sam begins, and he’s okay with that.

Dean could do without other people completely if he could just have Sam, which is why it’s going to gut him when Sam leaves. He understands intellectually that they’re closer than normal siblings…and Sam says he wants normal. Maybe part of that normal is getting away from Dean. Every instinct Dean has is screaming at him to hold on tight to his brother and not let go; he doesn’t want things to change. He likes saving people, hunting things; life on the open road with his Dad and his brother. But if Sam truly needs to leave...well…Dean hopes he has the strength to let him go. 

Dean pours himself another glass of Jack Daniels and drinks deeply.

His cell phone beeps and Dean flips it open. There’s a message from Dad telling Dean that he’s caught wind of a case in Minnesota and is on his way there already.

_You and Sam take liberty_ , Dad texts. Dean snorts at the Marine terminology. _And, Dean, you get that boy’s head on straight before I get back._

No word, of course, on when that will be.

Dean finishes his whiskey and crawls into bed beside his brother. He turns his back and clings to the edge, but that’s as far away as he can bring himself to be.

\--

Sam awakens to bright sunlight streaming through the threadbare yellow curtains and Dean wrapped around him like an octopus; from which he surmises that Dad didn’t come back to the motel last night and Dean isn’t expecting him any time soon.

Sam closes his eyes and takes a moment to just bask in Dean’s unexpected but very welcome closeness and then he tilts his head slightly and lets himself look…really _look_ …at his brother.

Dean is so good looking that it’s breathtaking. It’s not surprising that the hottest girl in whatever Podunk-town high school they were dumped in always hooked up with Dean. It’s not surprising that he always finds willing one night stands in every bar he goes to.

Dean is classically handsome and Sam is pretty sure his face could’ve launched a thousand ships back in the day; and that all of the most famous renaissance artists would’ve been lining up to paint his perfectly symmetrical face—Da Vinci probably would’ve sold his soul for the chance.

Sam definitely has a lot of, uh, _aesthetic appreciation_ for Dean.

Which is weird. Right? Sam is the first to admit he doesn’t always have a good handle on what’s weird and what’s normal, but he thinks it’s probably weird to think your brother’s really hot.

Of course, Sam’s luckier than all those girls who Dean scores with, because they never get to wake up next to Dean. And Dean never gave any of them the last of the Cheerios and went without himself. Dean doesn’t love them. But he loves Sam. And Sam loves Dean more than anyone else on the planet. Dean is his favorite person in the whole world and he hopes to God that Dean agrees to come to California with him when he goes, because if he has to leave Dean behind it’s going to tear his soul in two.

Sam studies Dean’s lightly speckled face. Dean hates his freckles, but Sam thinks they’re kind of cute. Dean always teases Sam that he’s a girl, calls him _Samantha_ and _princess_ , but Dean’s the one with the ridiculously long eyelashes, pouty lips and big green eyes. He’s ruggedly handsome, but also really, really pretty. Sam snorts softly and shakes his head. 

The way he feels about Dean isn’t sexual. Not exactly. They’re jerked off around each other before—it’s sometimes hard to avoid when you live in such close quarters. And sure, they’ve always ignored what the other one was doing; respected each other’s privacy as much as they could, but Sam knows what his brother sounds like when he comes and that’s…maybe crossed some wires in his brain. Or something. But mostly, he just loves Dean with every fiber of his being.

Sam sighs and Dean snuffles and then starts snoring and Sam can smell the whiskey on his breath. He wrinkles his nose and starts to ease away from his brother. Not because the smell bothers him—whiskey, leather and gun oil are quintessentially _Dean_ —but because Dean’s probably going to wake himself up soon and he’ll get embarrassed and act weird if he wakes up cuddling Sam.

Sam manages to untangle himself and get out of bed without waking his brother. He pulls on a pair of jeans, exchanges the plain grey tee-shirt he sleeps in for a two-toned olive green tee-shirt with buttons down the front, and then rummages through his dirty laundry bag for a pair of socks that don’t smell too badly. He pulls on his navy-blue no-name sneakers, picks up his wallet and the motel key, and runs a hand through his hair to tame it, before heading out to Denny’s, a short hike down the Great Basin Highway in Wells, Nevada.

The Winchesters have just salted-and-burned the ghost of a Mormon farmer who was luring tourists to their deaths in the ghost town of Metropolis, twelve miles up the road from Wells.

With the ghost laid to rest, Sam had expected they’d be moving on quickly—Wells, Nevada is not a hotbed of excitement and Sam hopes to God they’re not going to end up stuck here for the summer. Now though…with Dad gone…who knows?

The verge beside the highway is dirty gravel, bleeding into salt desert shrubland, and Sam’s feet kick up dust as he walks. The road itself shimmers with heat and Sam can feel sweat trickling down his throat and between his shoulder blades.

Denny’s air-conditioned interior is a welcome relief.

Glancing around, Sam notes the handful of male customers, each at a table by himself, and figures them for long haul truck drivers. He heads for the counter where two servers, both middle-aged women are deep in conversation.

Apparently Laney got into UCLA and Karen is pleased as all heck that her daughter has a chance to get out of Nowheresville and make something of herself. What can I get you Hon?

This last is directed at him and Sam orders an All-American Slam for Dean, a Loaded Veggie Omelette for himself and two white coffees to go. He waits beside the counter while Karen puts his order together and listens with envy as she bubbles with excitement about her daughter’s prospects.

Why can’t he have that? All he wants is a fresh start; the chance to make something of himself. He didn’t choose this life; didn’t choose to be a…a _child solider_. Why does his dad think it’s such a big goddamn deal that he wants something as ordinary and normal as the chance to go to college?

By the time he gets back to the motel, Sam’s earlier good mood has soured. Dean is sitting up in bed, checking his phone. He glances up when Sam walks in and his expression morphs from gloom to pure-Dean delight.

“Coffee!” he says happily, reaching out a hand.

Sam can’t help grinning at him. “Coffee,” he agrees, handing one of them to Dean. “And breakfast.”

He basks in the warmth of Dean’s smile.

“Thanks, man,” Dean says and immediately starts tucking in.

“So,” Sam nods at Dean’s phone. “Dad?”

Dean nods and speaks with his mouthful. “S’gone to Minnesota. Caught a case.”

Sam grimaces at the mashed eggs and bacon clinging to his brother’s teeth and tongue.

“What’s the hunt?” Sam asks.

Dean shrugs. Apparently Dad didn’t say and Dean didn’t ask.

Sam’s lips twist. “Well he picked a great place to ditch us,” he snarks. “There’s _so much_ to do in Wells, Nevada: Population 1,300, plus tumbleweeds!”

Dean frowns. “At least the motel has a swimming pool.”

“The water’s green,” Sam spits. “And I think we’re probably too old to swim in our underwear now.”

If Dean’s sudden look of alarm is anything to go by, Sam imagines his bitchface must be pretty epic.

“Well,” Dean adds hastily, “Dad didn’t say we had to stay here. We could road trip.”

Sam tilts his head, considering as Dean warms up to the subject.

“We could hit Vegas,” Dean enthuses. “You’ve got a fake ID, says you’re twenty-one. We can clean up at poker and blackjack; hustle a little pool. Find a couple hot chicks to hook up with.”

Sam’s nose wrinkles without his say so.

“Or not,” Dean says, watching Sam closely. “We could make it a ‘brothers’ thing. Just the two of us, hanging out and having fun. No training, no monsters. Just…us. What d’you say?”

Sam grins broadly. “Sounds awesome.”

\--

It’s a pretty straight run down the Great Basin Highway from Wells to Las Vegas and Dean reckons he can make it in less than six hours, even if he drives like a grandma behind the wheel of a Volvo.

He’s not gonna lie though; the Great Basin Highway, AKA Route 93 is boring as fuck. Traffic is light; mostly trucks; and while some people might call it a scenic drive, Dean ain’t one of ‘em. It’s all grass and shrubs and dust, with a one horse town every sixty miles or so.

Still he’s got his tunes. And Sammy picked up a handful of tourist brochures from the motel’s reception when they checked out and he’s been randomly reading factoids out to Dean for the whole two and a half hours they’ve been driving.

Did Dean know that all of the numbers on a roulette wheel added up to 666?

Dean did not.

Did Dean know that blue jeans were invented in Reno?

Dean did not.

Did Dean know that Nevada was the only American state to legalize prostitution, but that only regulated brothels in counties with populations under 400,000, were legal?

Dean did, in fact, know that.

He also knows that if you hang around the right types of bars in Reno wearing strategically tight, ripped blue jeans, you can hustle enough money in one evening to buy groceries for yourself and your brother for two weeks. Legal or not.

Not that he tells Sam that.

“Huh,” Sam says.

Dean feels another ‘interesting fact’ coming on.

“We’re gonna intersect with Lincoln Highway in Ely,” his brother says.

Dean glances sideways, eyebrow raised.

“Lincoln Highway,” Sam says, “AKA Route 50. It’s known as The Loneliest Road in America because it’s so sparsely populated. The part between Fernley and Ely is 285 miles long and has three towns and a few tiny unincorporated communities along the stretch. It’s not even designated as a _rural_ area. It’s _frontier_ country!”

He sounds torn between impressed and horrified.

“Wow,” Dean says dryly. “So you’re telling me it’s the _actual_ ass end of Bumfuck, Nowheresville?”

Sam purses his lips, his eyes narrowing.

“You’re the one with the cowboy fetish,” he says. “I thought you’d be interested in frontier towns.”

Dean hotly denies having a cowboy fetish and Sam’s answering laugh is wicked. After all the stress of the last twenty-four hours, Dean is more than willing to sacrifice himself on the altar of self-deprecating humor, if it will keep Sam laughing like that, so he plays up the _aw shucks_ and fakes a Texan accent and makes a joke about saving the horse and riding the cowboy, which causes Sam’s eyes to widen. Dean plays it back in his head and then hurries to clarify that in this scenario he’s the cowboy and there’s a hot girl riding him. He grins and waggles his eyebrows and Sam’s smile is warm and fond.

Sam says he wants to drive a little way down Route 50, take a quick tour of the Ely main drag, and Dean’s still in keep Sam happy mode so he lets himself be talked into it.

“Dude! Check it out!”

Sam’s pointing at an old-school style diner called Hunter Takeout.

Sam gleefully insists that as Hunters, they absolutely _have_ to eat at Hunters Takeout. He then has an out loud argument with himself about whether or not that constitutes dramatic irony. Dean decides he doesn’t care what his brother’s geeking out about; he can always go for a burger.

The diner is clean, their waitress is friendly and the food is good, if a little more expensive than Dean would like, but the waitress gives Sam an extra-large slice of the peach cobbler they order for dessert, so that more than makes up for the cost.

\--

It’s nearly 6.00pm by the time Joey Alberici’s credit card checks them into the Excalibur Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. They don’t have a booking, so they have to take what’s available.

What’s available turns out to be a standard king room, which means sharing a bed, but secure parking is included so Baby will be safe, so Dean is happy, so Sam is happy.

The Excalibur Hotel isn’t exactly the Bellagio, but it’s a definite step up from the usual budget chains they stay at, which makes it feel like a vacation. The fact that their drill sergeant isn’t around is also helping it to feel like a holiday.

Sam puts his duffle bag on the side of the bed closest to the window and marvels at the fact that you have to operate the curtains by pulling on strings. 

Dean puts his duffle on the dresser beneath the wall-mounted flat-screen TV and ducks into the bathroom. Sam hears the shower turn on.

“Nice,” Dean is out again a moment later with a big grin on his face. “Good water pressure. Plenty of soft towels.”

For all he calls Sam _princess_ , Dean is precious about his creature comforts in a way that Sam isn’t.

Dean suggests that they clean up, change into more respectable clothes, get something to eat and then hit the blackjack tables. Maybe find a poker game.

Sam had been hoping they’d just chill, their first night here, but he figures Dean has a point. They do have to fund their vacation after all. So he nods.

Dean grins and then starts to strip off, with his usual lack of modesty. “I call first shower,” he says and Sam rolls his eyes and turns away with pink cheeks.

When it’s his turn to shower, Sam undresses in the bathroom. The soaps and shampoos smell of vanilla and sandalwood and Sam luxuriates in washing the road from his body, but doesn’t shave, because a bit of scruff makes him look older.

He dresses in the black jeans and burgundy button down he’d brought into the bathroom with him and dries his hair with the hairdryer on the wall.

Dean bangs on the bathroom door. “You finished doing your makeup yet, Samantha?”

Sam switches the hairdryer off and returns it to its cradle on the wall, before snatching the door open.

Dean’s eyes widen and his pupils dilate, just a little.

“Woah,” he says. “Lookin’ sharp there, little brother. You’re gonna have your pick of the ladies tonight!”

And that right there is what Sam doesn’t want. This could be the last time they get to spend, just hanging out as brothers, for…a while. He doesn’t want Dean pushing him at girls. He doesn’t want Dean bed-hopping. He wants to soak up his fill of Dean before he heads off to college, because who knows how much he’ll get to see Dean when he’s at college? He’ll be busy going to class and studying, Dean will be busy hunting all around the continental USA. Dad…may even try to make it difficult for them to see each other, to punish him for not following orders; for not living his life exactly the way Dad specified.

Dean’s expression has morphed into one of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just. We said we’d make this…like…a brothers’ weekend. No chicks.”

Dean’s expression clears. “Yeah, no, we will. I was just saying…you’re looking good, that’s all,” he runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Dad called while you were in the shower. He wants us to meet him in Oregon next Sunday.”

“Why? What’s in Oregon?”

“Dad saw some reports about a bunch of loggers getting killed by falling branches. He says one of the survivors is claiming he saw some kind of skinny ape in the trees.”

Sam frowns. “He’s not thinking Bigfoot is he?”

Dean scoffs and raises an eyebrow. “Bigfoot’s not real, you know that. He thinks it’s an Agropelter.”

Sam gapes. “Seriously?”

Dean shrugs. “The point is, we’ve got basically a week. And you’re right. We said we’d make this a brothers’ thing. So,” he waves an arm with a flourish, “I hereby christen this the Winchester Brothers’ Sacred Vegas Pilgrimage. Brother stuff only, no hook ups.”

Sam grins. “Awesome.”

\--

Dean watches his brother push several chips forward with a boyish smile at the dealer, doubling down on his original bet.

There are gasps around the table. Sam is the only player who hasn’t gone bust and he’s got a decent pile of chips in front of him. Dean’s breath is stuck in his throat. His brother’s got an ace and a seven and the dealer’s up card is an eight. The smarter, more strategic move would’ve been to stand, but Sam—the former mathlete, let’s not forget—has always been good at probability theory. And he’s extremely good at counting cards too; even when they’re playing with four decks. 

The dealer turns over the three of clubs giving Sam 21 and there’s an upswell of excited murmuring.

The dealer deals herself…the ten of hearts. The murmuring gets louder and more excited.

The dealer deals herself…the five of diamonds; and the people watching cheer and the man next to Sam slaps him on the back and shakes his hand as the dealer goes bust.

Sam ducks his head, all country-boy shy and _aw shucks_ and Dean is so damn proud of him that his chest hurts. Sam pulls off that innocent, clean cut, All-American college boy act so well that no one ever sees him coming; it’s beautiful to behold.

Dean hasn’t been able to pull off _innocent_ since…ever. He morphed from cheeky brat, to juvenile delinquent, to something a little older and scarier than that. He’s still young enough to be able to hide the dangerous predator if he really tries, but Sammy, he doesn’t even need to try. He just does the lost puppy thing with his eyes, brings out his dimples, and people fall all over themselves to trust him with their lives.

From where he’s watching, just a stranger in the crowd, he gives Sam the signal to leave and they both cash in their chips separately, because Sam cleaned up at blackjack and he earned himself a tidy sum at the poker table and they don’t want the house to suspect they’ve teamed up to clean up big and start watching them.

Sam heads back to the room first and Dean gives it fifteen minutes and then follows him up.

Dean has barely opened the door when Sam is on him, dragging him into the room, laughing, and then hugging the living daylights out of him.

“Bro,” he says, patting Sam on the back, “how much did you have to drink?”

“A beer or three,” Sam says, squeezing him hard and then pulling back to peer at him.

“Did you see that?” he crows. “I was fucking awesome!”

Dean can’t help smiling. “You got lucky,” he admonishes. “That was a risky play.”

Sam’s smile broadens. “Yeah, but it paid off. Big time. How did you go?”

Dean waggles his eyebrows and strikes a pose. “Three large, baby.”

Sam’s pupils dilate and before Dean really has time to process what’s happening, Sam is pressing his lips against Dean’s. It’s a chaste kiss, over quickly, and then Sam is spinning away, saying something about how they shouldn’t gamble again for the rest of their vacation, because they’ve earned enough to fund their week in Vegas and they don’t want to get banned for being ‘too good.’

Dean’s legs won’t move. He puts his fingers to his tingling lips and stares at Sam, decides the kid is just excited from his win and maybe a little buzzed from the beer, and really, they’ve never been shy about physical affection, so…Dean rubs a hand across the back of his neck. It’s not like Sam slipped him a little tongue or anything.

Sam’s in his boxers now, and the tee-shirt he sleeps in. He looks at Dean and raises an eyebrow.

“You coming to bed?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “No spooning. You stay on your side.”

Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean falls asleep hugging the edge of the bed and wakes up some time later in the middle of it, with Sam’s arms wrapped around him and his brother’s hard dick pressed up against his ass crack. Sam’s snoring lightly so Dean takes a moment to appreciate how well hung Sam is. He focuses his thoughts on how nice said big dick feels, pushed up against his ass, and staunchly ignores the fact that it’s wrong to be enjoying it. 

Sam snuffles and wiggles and suddenly his knee is between Dean’s thighs, his hips are canting, and his dick’s riding Dean’s ass crack with intent. Every muscle in Dean’s body locks up tight and he can’t stifle his gasp. Behind him, Sam freezes and Dean hears him swallow.

So Sam’s woken up. And is probably freaking out. And maybe it’s just the bourbon he had earlier talking, but Dean does the only thing that makes sense to him in the moment: He relaxes back against his brother.

For a moment, nothing happens and then Sam’s hips thrust tentatively. Dean groans and Sam freezes again.

“Okay?” Sam whispers.

Dean squeezes his eyes tightly shut. Goddamn it, Sam. He doesn’t want to acknowledge what they’re doing; wants to be able to write it off as something they did half-asleep, under the influence. Dean sighs. That’s not Sam though. Sam wants _consent_. Fuck.

Sam starts to pull away and fuck it all, Dean doesn’t want him to. Dean grabs the arm that’s slung across his waist and presses Sam’s fingers against his groin, let’s his brother feel how hard he is.

“Yeah?” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes.

Sam rubs and squeezes Dean through his boxers while thrusting hard against his ass crack. Their breathing is loud and harsh and the whole thing is surreal. Dean is definitely going to hell. When he comes, he bites his lips so hard that he tastes blood, but at least he stops himself from crying out. Sam hits his own peak a moment later and they don’t move apart, don’t acknowledge what just happened, they just stay still and quiet, with sticky boxers, until they fall asleep again.

\--

They don’t talk about it.

And Sam’s okay with that, because he doesn’t know what he’d say anyway. 

Sam can’t quite believe what he did; what he had the audacity to do. He’s putting it down to the combination of alcohol and adrenaline, giving him the courage to act; to take what he wanted in the moment.

Dean wanted it too though. That’s important. Sam wouldn’t have kept going if he didn’t. If his brother hadn’t relaxed against him, Sam would’ve rolled over and pretended he was still asleep. Given them the out. And if Dean hadn’t given him the okay, he would’ve backed off. Too late by then to pretend he hadn’t been about to sex up his brother, but they would’ve found a way to rationalize it and move on.

He’s not quite sure how they’re going to do that now, but Dean seems to want to talk about it as much as Sam does and things are surprisingly normal between them. Sam half expected Dean to be weird around him, but he isn’t. There’s no ‘morning after’ vibe, they’re just them. SamnDean. As enmeshed and co-dependent as always, just now with added subtle notes of incest.

They spend the day wandering up and down The Strip, starting at the New York-New York opposite their hotel. They watch the volcano outside The Mirage erupt, they visit the dolphin habitat, and they make fun of the fountain show outside The Bellagio, because it’s really kind of lame.

They visit The Paris Hotel and Eifel Tower and they get Taco Bell for lunch, before spending the afternoon exploring The Venetian Hotel, even taking a gondola tour through the shopping arcade, despite Dean protesting that it’s way too chick flick.

The head back to the hotel just as it’s getting dark, shower and change, and then take a cab to Fremont Street, where they find a Barbecue restaurant and eat their fill of ribs, and then wander around, just taking in the sights.

That night, neither one of them clings to the edge of the bed. 

Dean bitches that Sam has cold feet and Sam retaliates by sticking said cold feet in between Dean’s calves. Dean rolls away, cursing quietly, but Sam just follows him, making him the little spoon again. He scoots up close to Dean, his eager dick wedging itself between those tempting cheeks, and Dean’s breathing is suddenly ragged.

They’ve both got underwear on, just like last night, and Sam knows Dean has done so much more than this, has hit homerun after homerun, while this is barely third base, but he still reacts like a livewire when Sam rubs his fingertips against his brother’s swollen dick while thrusting against his ass.

That whole _brother_ part, the illicit nature of what they’re doing, Sam thinks that’s probably what makes it so hot.

\--

The next day they reserve a poolside package and then, because neither one of them owns a pair of swim trunks, they hit the hotel’s shopping area. To Dean’s everlasting amusement, it’s done up to look like a medieval shopping bazaar, and Dean fakes a British accent and acts like he’s a knight and Sam’s the lady he’s supposed to guard. It’s funny for about ten minutes and then Sam punches him in the arm, because they’re getting a lot of raised eyebrows from the other guests and Sam thinks that when you’ve spent the last couple of nights sexing up your brother, you should probably keep a low profile.

Dean gets a pair of trunks with an image of the Vegas strip at night in all its neon glory, and a pair of dark sunglasses. Sam gets a pair of trunks with pink flamingos and green palm trees and the word VEGAS printed on them. And a pair of mirrored aviators. The both buy VEGAS beach towels. Sam also buys a bottle of sunscreen, because Dean will burn and freckle without it.

Down at the pool, they spread their towels out on their lounge chairs and then Sam insists that Dean puts sunscreen on. Dean does his own front and Sam has way too much fun rubbing it into his back. By the time he’s finished the tips of Dean’s ears are pink and his face is flushed and he says he’s not in any hurry to get into the pool. Sam sniggers and heads for the water, diving in and swimming laps until, eventually, his brother joins him.

It’s a good day. In fact, it’s probably the most fun Sam can remember having in a long time. He feels carefree in a way he hasn’t for years and true to his word, Dean doesn’t flirt with a single girl. Sam has Dean’s undivided attention and it’s a heady feeling.

\--

The next couple of days are a rinse and repeat of the first two. They explore the Strip, they hang out at the pool, they eat good food, and at night, Dean let’s Sam get them both off.

Dean’s decided not to stress about it. Yes, he knows they shouldn’t really be doing it, but it’s fun, it’s easy and it’s not like they’re having actual sex or anything. They’re just…helping each other to relax. And besides, it’s not like he’s initiating anything. That would probably be wrong. Because of the age difference. It would feel, you know, like he was being a pervert. Which…he’s just…letting Sam have something that he obviously wants. That can’t be wrong? Right? And it’s not like he doesn’t want it too. It feels good and Dean’s life motto has always been _if it feels good, do it._

Every now and then, Dean will look at Sam or he’ll catch Sam looking at him and he just doesn’t know what to make of the situation they’ve gotten themselves into. He should be freaking out. But he’s not. Because nothing’s changed. Not really. The way he feels about his brother, it’s no different. There’s just the added bonus of assisted orgasms and honestly, the only thing he feels guilty about is not feeling guilty about it. In the scheme of abnormal things about their lives, this doesn’t feel like any bigger a transgression against society’s morals than digging up graves or credit card fraud.

Winchesters are not normal. And maybe if Sam accepts that he’s not normal; accepts that _not normal_ can be a good thing, he’ll stop chasing after it.

Not that Dean has spent a lot of time thinking about it or anything.

“Hey Dean?”

Dean raises his head from his arms and looks up at Sam, who’s standing over his lounge chair waving a flyer at him.

“What’s that?”

“The Midsummer Magick Renaissance Faire is in town,” Sam says. “We should go.”

“Why?” Dean frowns.

Sam lowers his voice. “Well judging by your reaction to Ye Olde Medieval Shoppes we’ve got here, you’re just a little bit into that era. I actually think you’d like cosplay, but don’t worry, we don’t have to dress up.”

Dean blinks. “Dress up?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. A lot of people go in costume. Like they’re knights of the round table or peasants or Ladies or whatever.”

Dean snorts. “Are you going as a Lady? I can picture you in a corset.”

“Pervert,” Sam says fondly.

Dean shrugs. Give the givens, that’s a fair enough label.

Sam is watching him closely. “Well like I said, we don’t have to dress up, but it’ll still be fun to see people in costume. And there’s jousting and sword fighting and knife throwing and fire eating. It sounds like a lot of fun.”

Dean purses his lips. “You really wanna go?”

“Yeah,” Sam nods. “I think it’ll be...well dorky. But fun. And if it turns out to be too lame, we can always just leave and spend the rest of the day in the pool.”

Dean doesn’t see the harm in checking out a place with jousting and sword fighting. It’s their last full day in Vegas tomorrow and who knows when he’ll get an opportunity to geek out with his brother again?

\--

The Midsummer Magick Renaissance Faire charges $10.00 per person for a one day pass, which Dean thinks is ridiculously expensive. He pays anyway, because Sam wants to do this, and if nothing else, this venture should give Dean ample opportunity to tease Sam about his geekiness.

Sam was right about the costumes. A lot of people are dressed up. Some look very authentic. Some look like they chose the ‘slutty’ option instead of going for period-accurate costuming.

Standing next to the beer stall, is a woman wearing a dress that is basically a green corset with a tiny flared skirty that barely covers her ass. She has a brown cloak thrown back over her shoulders and is carrying a riding crop. Her whole getup is giving Dean lots of naughty thoughts and his ears tinge pink when Sam shoulder checks him and asks him, low and husky, if he sees something he likes.

Dean shakes his head, just to clear it really. “If she dressed like that back then, I bet the village would’ve burned her as a witch,” he says.

Sam huffs an agreement and then taps Dean on the arm and points. A guy wearing a loin cloth and nothing else is ambling along toward them. Dean gapes, because _seriously_? A _loin cloth_?

There’s a couple with kids standing close by and they look so horrified that Dean almost laughs. The dad is shielding his daughter’s eyes and the mom is complaining loudly about family values.

Dean watches a lot of TV; he knows that _family values_ is often code for conservative douchbaggery and hey, if the guy likes to let it all hang out (and yeah, it looks like it’s in danger of hanging out if he moves wrong) then good for him. On the other hand…there _are_ a lot of kids around and maybe they don’t need to see Conan the Barbarian with his dick barely covered and a thong going up his ass crack. God knows, as a kid Dean saw too many things in truck stop restrooms that made him really uncomfortable, and maybe Dean doesn’t have a good handle on normal parental behaviour, but he figures protecting your kids from things they don’t need to see yet is a reasonable family value for a civilian. He spent long enough wishing Sam wouldn’t have to find out that monsters were real. And he always protected his baby brother from the more human predators. When Dean thinks about everything he’d had to see by the age of six…both monster and human…then…yeah…he can relate to wanting to hide your kid’s eyes. It’s a shame he had to face the monsters so young, but then hunters’ children are never really kids. 

“C’mon,” Sam says, and there’s a look on his face that’s too knowing, too compassionate, as if he can read Dean’s mind. “Let’s find the jousting.”

\--

They don’t let the guests participate in the jousting and Dean is disappointed that he only gets to watch, because it looks like fun. Watching it is boring though. And the tantalizing smell of roast meat is wafting to him from somewhere, so when the second joust is done, he drags Sam off to find food.

The giant turkey leg is expensive, but so worth it. Dean has meat juice dripping down his chin and he doesn’t even care. He doesn’t like the mead though; way too sweet. Give him a beer any day.

He and Sam eat sitting on the grass beneath a tree. Dean picked up a flyer at the food stall that is all about how to talk in Elizabethan and there is a section on insults which amuses him no end. He tries several out on his brother while they’re eating, telling him: _Sam_ , _thy vile canker-blossom'd countenance curdles milk and sours beer,_ which is not true at all. Sam is a good looking guy, but he’s an older brother; it’s his job to shit stir. Sam, of course, has clearly done his own research when it comes to Elizabethan insults because he’s quick to reply:

“In sooth, Dean, thy dank cavernous tooth-hole consumes all truth and reason!”

Dean frowns, trying to parse out the insult. “Did you just tell me to shut my pie hole?”

Sam grins and shakes his head. “Nah; though that works too. I just said you’ve got a big mouth.”

Dean waggles his eyebrows at that, which makes Sam blush.

When they’re done, they make their way to the sword fighting. They watch the exhibition fight first and then the guys who were fighting announce that they’re available to spar with anyone who wants to learn and Dean’s in there before he realizes that they really meant kids. And that they’ve using pool noodles, not swords for this part.

Sam can’t stop laughing though, so that’s all the incentive Dean needs to go ahead, and when it’s his turn to go up against the expert swordsman, he disarm him in seconds and has his noodle against the guy’s throat a heartbeat later.

“You sure we can’t go a couple rounds with the real thing?” he asks.

The guy just shakes his head. “Insurance wouldn’t cover us if anything happened,” he pauses. “You’re good. You a fencer or something?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Yeah. Something.”

\--

They _are_ allowed to use real knives at the knife throwing booth and they draw a small crowd as they both hit the center of the target, repeatedly. Sam does slightly better than him, because he has always been better at throwing knives, but they both win a small dagger, crafted, they are told, by the Faire’s blacksmith.

Sam is keen to see the blacksmith’s forge, so they go and find it and spend some time watching him work, which is honestly incredibly cool. Dean is mesmerised by the coke-stoked fire and the heat-sparks that fly when the blacksmith hammers and shapes the flame-hot metal. If he’d been born in medieval times, Dean thinks he might’ve been a blacksmith. You know, if his life back then turned out different and he didn’t have to be a hunter.

They’re wandering away from the forge, when Sam grabs his arm and gestures to an ornately-carved wooden, gypsy-style caravan, painted in greens and reds. It’s parked just outside the Enchanted Forest the Faire has set up in the far corner of the park and a sign in front of it reads, “Fortune Telling, Tarot Reading.”

“Check it out,” Sam says. “Should we?”

There’s a trickle of cold working its way up Dean’s spine and he wants to say no, but Sam’s looking so hopeful, like he thinks this will be fun.

“I dunno,” he hedges. “Most of them are frauds.”

And the ones that aren’t—Dean represses a shudder. He has vague memories of a Vodou priestess who visited Uncle Bobby’s place one time when they were staying with him; and even vaguer memories of a black woman whose words caused his Dad to run from her house, shaking.

The door of the caravan swings open and the sweet scent of _nag champa_ wafts out as a blonde woman in a flowing red floral dress, eyes them defiantly, her hands on her hips and her chin jutting.

“Selina Loveridge ain’t no fraud,” she says in an accent straight out of Tennessee. “The cards told me you was comin’,” she tilts her head, her eyes narrowed. “C’mon in boys.”

She steps away from the door and gestures and Dean meets his brother’s imploring eyes.

“Okay,” he sighs. “Fine.”

\--

Sam couldn’t explain it if Dean asked, but he has to go in. He feels…driven to speak with Selina. The moment he set eyes on that caravan, he could feel whatever was within pulling at him.

He’s wary, though. Of course he is. He’s a hunter. He’s no stranger to the supernatural, but he doesn’t feel a sense of threat. He just…he feels that Selina has something important to tell him. To tell them.

The inside of the caravan is clichéd, but comfortable, with lots of red velvet, white lace and gold brocade paint. Selina has them sit at a wooden table with a red satin table cloth and she makes eye contact with both of them in turn, staring deep into their eyes, as if she’s trying to see their souls. Eventually, she passes Sam a Tarot Deck and asks him to shuffle.

Sam takes the cards and shuffles them until Selina nods and asks for them back.

“If you have a specific question, ask it now. Otherwise, we’ll just ask the cards for some general insight into your future.”

Sam has college on his mind, but he doesn’t want to admit to that in front of Dean, doesn’t want to ask if he’ll be okay if he goes, so he tells Selina that he’s happy for just some general insight.

Selina closes her eyes and holds her hands over the cards for a long moment before drawing out a card and placing it on the table before Sam.

Sam hears Dean gasp and when he looks down it’s the Death card staring back at him.

“It doesn’t mean literal death,” Selina says. “You don’t need to fear the Death card. And this is the Upright card, so it simply means that one major phase in your life is ending, and a new one is going to start. Someday soon you’re going to need to close one door, so that a new one will open. It may be painful or scary, having your life change, but you need to place the past behind you, so you can focus your energy on what is ahead of you,” Selina smiles at Sam. “You’re going to open the door to new life events and leave unhealthy attachments behind you. Does that make sense?”

Sam swallows and then nods. Beside him, Dean draws a sharp breath and squirms in his chair.

“Shuffle again.”

Sam does.

This time, the card that comes up is The Lovers and Sam can’t look at his brother. His cheeks go pink even knowing that Dean is beside him. Dean is very quiet now; he’s barely even breathing.

“This card shows that you have a strong and trusting bond with someone in your life,” Selina looks from Sam to Dean and Sam sees his brother’s eyes widen, feels his own do the same. “It doesn’t necessarily mean sexual love,” she adds and Sam bites at his bottom lip. Selina’s eyes narrow. “The Lovers card can also mean choice. There may be a dilemma that you need to think about carefully so that you can make the best decision for your situation. You may also be in a situation where you’re developing your own personal values, regardless of societal norms. This could be one of the times when you need to figure out what you are going to stand for; to start making up your mind about what you find important and unimportant in your life. Ultimately, it all comes back to choice. Will you choose love or work? Love or family? Love or your entire lifestyle? What are you prepared to sacrifice in order to have this love? You may be at a crossroads, or shifting from one path to another. This card suggests that there are big decisions that you need to make when it comes to your future.”

She hands the cards back to Sam. “Shuffle one last time.”

This time, when Sam gives her the cards back, she pulls out The Wheel of Fortune.

Selina sits back and looks up at Sam, her mouth drawn and her eyes serious. “This is a reminder that no one can avoid what is fated. There are great forces outside of human control at work here. You will make choices and your life will change, but the wheel is not yours to control. There will be ups and there will be downs, but if you adapt, then you will be ready for the next turn of the wheel, when everything changes again.”

Selina puts Sam’s cards back in the deck, and then shuffles it for several minutes. Sam watches her long pink nails and breathes in the fragrant smoke surrounding them.

“Those were some powerful cards,” Selina says thoughtfully. “You’ve got a lot going on in your life, a lot to think about, and some big changes on the horizon.”

Sam nods, because she’s not wrong.

Selina hands the cards to Dean and tells him to shuffle, gives him the same spiel about asking a specific question, or just for general insight and Dean, too, chooses general insight.

The first cards Selina draws out for Dean is Death in reverse. Sam hasn’t forgotten what she said about it not meaning death, but it’s still unsettling to see that hooded skeleton with the scythe.

“In Reverse, this card means you’re resisting change,” Selina tells Dean. “You’re afraid to let go of the past, because you’re scared of being alone. Change is inevitable, but you won’t accept it. You’re stagnating. Staying in a place that’s not healthy for you, letting negative patterns slowly drain you. You need to stop holding on to what has been and embrace what is going to be.”

Sam glances at Dean and sees that his face is pale and drawn.

Selina gives the cards back to Dean and he shuffles again.

This time, Sam can’t constrain his gasp when Dean draws The Lovers in Reverse. Even Selina looks surprised.

“This card suggests inner conflict,” Selina tells Dean. “You should take time to think about what you are punishing yourself for, so you can fix it or let it go. You also need to examine your personal values to make sure that they’re aligned with what you want from your life. The Lovers Reversed can also indicate that you have been avoiding responsibility for your actions. You could have made a decision that was based on your desire for immediate gratification, but now you are blaming others for the consequences of that. You need to make amends or let go of the past and make better decisions in the future.”

Dean’s fingers are white where he’s gripping his knees and Sam doesn’t like the pain he’s seeing in Dean’s eyes. He knows exactly where his brother’s head’s at, but he can’t say anything, not in front of Selina.

He watches Dean give the cards their final shuffle and waits for Selina to turn over his last card with bated breath.

This time they all gasp. It’s the Wheel of Fortune in Reverse.

Selina shakes her head. “Well aren’t you two just…yin and yang,” she sighs. “This is something I’ve never seen before; a couple coming in and drawing the same cards, but Upright, then Reverse. You two are…incredibly co-dependent and…intertwined,” she pauses and studies Dean for a long moment. “This card in Reverse tells me that you’ve had a lot of misfortune,” she says to Dean. “But you need to understand that none of it has been your fault. The card tells us that your misfortune is due to external influences that you can’t control. Like the wheel, our luck and our fate is always in motion, and sometimes we are on the bottom. What you shouldn't do is cling to the illusion of control. There are things that cannot be moved by human will and action alone. When we don’t let go, it can bring only more suffering. It’s seems that you blame yourself for actions that could not have altered the situation you’re in. When you learn to accept, you will also learn to forgive yourself.”

Dean is shaking his head. “I don’t buy that,” he says. “When I screw up, that’s on me.”

“Sometimes,” Selina says. “But you should not take the weight of the world on your shoulders; some things are in the hands of the fates and no matter would you do, they will not be diverted.”

Dean sits taller in his chair. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But I just…I don’t accept that. I can’t. What we do _matters_.”

“It does”, Selina says. “But sometimes, no matter what you do, you can’t avoid what is fated. And you need to learn to forgive yourself for that.”

Selina packs up her Tarot deck and puts it away. She stands and so too do Sam and Dean.

“Like I said, the cards told me I was gonna do this readin’ for y’all,” she says. “So…no charge, but please tip what you can.”

Dean’s still looking pissed and defensive, so Sam gets his wallet out and hands over a twenty dollar bill.

Selina’s hand brushes his when she takes it and Sam’s spine snaps backwards as his entire body goes rigid, and his eyes roll back in his head.

Dimly, he hears Dean shouting his name, but all he can see is the movie reel unfolding before his eyes, so fast that he can barely process it. Scene after scene of death and blood; monsters he doesn’t recognize, with fangs, with wings, with black eyes; flames above his bed; metal bars surrounding him; constant fear and pain, so much pain ; he’s stabbed in the back; he’s shot in the chest; he sees Dean attacked by an invisible force that rips him to shreds. On and on, the nightmare visions roll.

Sam’s head is pounding and he’s on his knees, blood dripping from his nose, and Dean’s hands are trying to drag him upright.

“Goddamn it, lady, what did you do to him?”

Sam reaches out blindly. “It’s okay, Dean, I’m okay.”

“What did she do to you?” Dean demands.

Sam shakes his head. He has no idea.

“Your brother has some latent psychic ability,” Selina says. “When we touched, it tapped into mine somehow and…we both saw elements of his future. Or possible futures.”

“No,” Sam says. That can’t be his future. “No. I don’t want any of that! I’m gonna…that’s the change. Making sure that never happens.”

The air inside the caravan is suddenly too cloying and he has to get out. Sam turns and pushes himself down the steps and then he runs into the Enchanted Forest.

\--

The moment Sam’s out the door, Dean turns to follow, but Selina grabs ahold of his arm.

He glances down at her. “Lady, you’re gonna want to let go of me,” he growls.

“Give him a moment,” she urges. “He needs some space right now. Especially from you.”

And just like that, Dean sags; a puppet with his strings cut.

“What did you See?” he asks.

Selina folds her arms and won’t meet his eyes. “Y’all are hunters,” she says. “Raised that way. Ain’t either one of you gonna get outta that life for good, but Sam…he needs to leave for a while. You don’t gotta like it.”

Dean _doesn’t_ like it and he’s not even going to pretend to. He waits to see if she’s got any more truth bombs to drop on him, but when long moments pass without her either speaking or looking him in the eye, he nods to himself.

“Can I go after him now?”

Selina shrugs.

As Dean descends the steps of her caravan, he hears her say softly, “May peace find you eventually, Dean Winchester.”

It chills him more than anything else she’s said today.

\--

He finds Sam huddled under a fake oak tree, deep in the Enchanted Forest.

“You okay?” he asks, lowering himself to sit beside his brother.

Sam shakes his head.

“Look, Sammy,” Dean begins, but Sam cuts him off.

“I got into Stanford,” he says. “Full ride.”

Dean’s heart hammers inside his chest. “Good for you,” he says.

Sam’s jaw clenches. “Yeah it is good for me. I barely went to school, remember? I had to work my ass off, by myself, in libraries and shitty motel rooms, and _I got in_ ; to one of the best schools in the country. They let me in, Dean. Dumbass me.”

Dean swallows. “You ain’t a dumbass, Sammy. You’re one of the best researchers I know. We need that. We need you.”

Sam snorts. “You really don’t. Look, Dean. I just…want to be normal.”

“ _You’re not normal_!”

Sam flinches at his raised voice.

“I’m sorry, Sam, but you’re not. _We’re_ not normal.”

“Well maybe I want to be.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, coz groping your brother’s dick is so normal.”

Sam’s face is ashen.

“I thought,” his voice falters. “You wanted that too…right?”

_The Lovers Reversed can also indicate that you have been avoiding responsibility for your actions._

Dean shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have let you. But you heard what she said, right? I’m immediate gratification guy and I need to make better decisions in the future.”

Sam’s staring at him and his looks heartbroken. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he says. “Are you…are you blaming me for it?”

“No. But if you want normal…”

Sam’s face is alight with fervour. “Come with me,” he says. “We can make our own normal.”

Dean shakes his head. “I can’t. Dad needs me.”

Sam scoffs. “What did she say about _staying in a place that’s not healthy_ for you?”

Dean tips his head back and sighs. “Stay with me, Sam. Please.”

“I can’t,” Sam says.

Dean hears real anguish in his tone and when he looks at his brother, Sam has tears in his eyes.

“It all comes back to _choice_ , right Sammy?” Dean says bitterly. “You’re gonna choose college over your family. Over me.”

Sam reaches out and takes hold of his hand. “I’m not leaving _you_ , Dean. And it won’t be forever.”

Dean closes his eyes and swallows. Sam’s going to shift paths and leave unhealthy attachments behind. Obviously that means Dean. And Selina was right. The cards were right. He’s scared of being alone.

“C’mon,” Sam hauls him to his feet. “Let’s head back to the hotel.”

\--

Sam watches as Dean relaxes behind the Impala’s wheel and by the time they’re back at The Excalibur, he’s put his tough-guy mask back in place.

They have dinner, go down to the casino and gamble a little, and go through the motions with eyes too bright and smiles too wide to be real. Sam’s sticking to beer, but Dean has been downing whiskey like he’s Dad.

From the other side of the roulette wheel, Sam sees Dean flirting with a busty red-head.

Dean glances up and sees Sam looking. He bites at his lip and ducks his head and then turns to speak to the red head. A moment later she’s shrugging and walking away and Dean collects his chips and makes his way cautiously to Sam.

“You wanna get outta here?” he asks.

The head back to their room and Dean walks to the edge of the bed and then turns, looks at Sam with wide, dark eyes.

Sam is riveted to the spot as Dean peels off his jacket and his Henley. Dean pauses with his hands in the waistband of his jeans.

“You wanna?” he says. “One last time?”

Sam swallows. They have to leave in the morning to meet Dad and he hears what Dean’s saying. They’re going to be with Dad and then Sam’s going to leave; going to chase normal. For them…for whatever this is building between them…tonight is the last night they have to explore it.

Sam wishes he were strong enough to turn Dean down. Instead, he begins to strip, slowly, his eyes never leaving his brother.

\--

Dean has absolutely no idea what he’s doing.

No. Strike that. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And he knows he shouldn’t be doing it. He’s just drunk enough and heart-broken enough not to care.

This is the first time they’ve been so bold. So blatant. They’re standing in front of each other, naked, staring at each other hungrily in the bright light of the hotel room.

Sam’s eyes are lust blown and his cock is hard and twitching against his belly. It’s big too, so damn big. Bigger than his and Dean’s knees hit the floor before he’s even conscious of his decision to move.

He puts one hand on Sam’s hip and grips his brother’s cock with the other one.

Sam gasps.

Dean looks up at him from beneath his eyelashes, then takes the head of Sam’s dick in his mouth.

Sam moans.

Dean slides his mouth up Sam’s length, and sucks hard, using his hand to stroke Sam’s balls and the base of his dick, which Dean can’t get in his mouth. It’s wet and messy and Sam gets his hands in Dean’s hair and _pulls_ him onto his dick, choking him.

Dean relaxes his throat and takes it, let’s Sam fuck his face. His own dick is rock hard and throbbing, so he let’s go of Sam’s hip and begins to stroke himself.

He’s done this much before, but he’s never wanted to do it, never got off on it, until now.

“Fuck, Dean, fuck, Dean,” Sam chants, gasping and panting and thrusting hard.

Dean pulls his mouth off Sam's cock, ignores Sam’s whine of protest, and stands up.

“You wanna?” he says, his voice raspy as hell from the rough throat fucking.

“What?” Sam’s frowning, confused, trying to grab ahold of Dean and rut against him.

“Fuck Dean,” Dean clarifies. “You wanna fuck me?”

Sam makes a strangled sound that Dean’s going to take as a yes. He goes to his duffle bag, gets out a pack of condoms and a tube of KY jelly.

There’s a little voice inside his head telling him that he shouldn’t do this. His conscience, maybe. Dean tells it to shut up.

He gets on the bed, on his back and squeezes some KY onto his fingers, before thrusting two of them up his ass. It’s a tight fit, but he can’t wait, needs Sam in him yesterday.

“Oh God. Dean,” Sam sounds _wrecked_. He drops down onto the bed beside Dean and puts a hand on his thigh. “Dean…do you really want this?”

Dean’s panting now, shoving his fingers in and out at a brutal pace, stretching himself as best he can, carving out a place for Sammy inside of himself.

“Never done this before,” he tells his brother. “Want you to be the one. Something just for us.”

Sam’s eyes go even darker and his voice is deeper than an eighteen year old’s has any right to be.

“Yeah, Dean. Just for us. Let’s do it.”

Dean pulls his fingers out and rolls over, sticks his ass in the air. He can’t look at Sam while they do this. He wants it like burning, but he shouldn’t want it. Shouldn’t let himself have it. He’s going with instant gratification again. Making bad choices.

“Condom, Sam,” he says. “And lube.”

There’s a rustling sound and a moment later the blunt, condom-clad head of Sam’s cock is resting against his asshole.

Sam doesn’t know to go slow; to ease in an inch at a time. He just slams in, bottoming out in one hard relentless thrust, and Dean cries out as he’s practically split in two.

“ _Fuck_ , Sam! Slowly goddamn it!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sam holds himself still until Dean relaxes enough to give him the go ahead.

Dean’s not going to lie; he’s had better sex. But this is _Sam_ and he means so much more to Dean than anyone else he’s ever been with. Sam’s in him and around him and Dean knows exactly where he is because they’re joined; they’re one. And it feels right. 

Sam’s hand is big and sweat-damp when it wraps around Dean’s cock, jerking him just right. Dean comes with a stifled moan and waits patiently for Sam to finish.

Dean’s feeling the after effects of both the sex and the whiskey and lying naked on the bed, completely fucked out, is about as much as he can manage, so Sam gets stuck with clean up.

He cleans up the wet spot, disposes of the condom, gets into his sleepwear and chivvies Dean into putting on his boxers and tee-shirt too. And then he cuddles up beside him, making Dean the little spoon.

“Don’t leave, Sammy,” Dean slurs. “Don’t go to college. Stay with me.”

Sam tenses and tries to pull away, but Dean won’t let him.

“Did you even _want_ that?” Sam says, and Dean can hear the hurt and betrayal in his voice. “Or was it just some kind of bribe? Stay and I’ll let you fuck me?”

“No. I’d never,” Dean trails off as the little voice inside his head tells him that’s exactly what he just did. Dean frowns. “But, I mean, that’s what we can have if you stay. I just…wanted you to…know…what you’ll miss.”

Sam sighs and rolls away. This time Dean lets him.

There’s a long moment of silence and Dean wishes he was enough to stop Sam from leaving. Wishes that he hadn’t somehow fucked this all up.

“I love you, Dean,” Sam says eventually. “You know that right?

Dean’s smile is a small sad thing. “Just not enough to stay.”

“More like, enough to know that we both need me to go. But I’ll come back, Dean. It won’t be forever, I promise.”

\--

Things come to a head three weeks later.

Dad takes the news about Stanford about as well as Sam expected him to and the shouting match that follows is epic. It ends with Sam packing his bags and storming out the door of the run-down clapboard-sided house they’ve been squatting in while they hunt the agropelter. The evening is warm, the moon is slim and barely lights the sky, and there are crickets chirping. But Sam can only hear his father’s angry words ringing in his ears: _If you go, Sam, you stay gone._

He hitches his duffle higher on his shoulder and walks steadfastly toward the bus stop.

Dean didn’t even take his side. Didn’t try to defend him when Dad unleashed his furious tirade. He knows Dean doesn’t want him to leave, but this is something Sam wants. Something he needs. And he’d promised his brother that he’d come back.

Now though, he guesses that’s not an option.

It was supposed to be Dean and him against the world, but Dean won’t even stand with him against Dad.

Sam picks up his pace and swears to himself, that he’s done. He’s done hunting. For good. He’s at a crossroads in his life, and the only thing he can focus on now is what’s ahead.

Sam doesn’t see Dean’s face pressed against the window. He doesn’t see the single tear that tracks down his brother’s face, the agonized expression as he experiences the worst night of his life, watching Sam march resolutely away from him, toward the normal that he craves.

Perhaps that’s for the best.

After all, the wheel of fortune turns evermore and no one can avoid what is fated. Especially not a Winchester.

_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you've enjoyed the story, please let me know!
> 
> Thanks to EE for beta reading (all remaining mistakes are mine) and to the challenge mods for running this fabulous challenge again. It's been fun. :)


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